Favoured places and favourite faces

I got back to one of my favourite holiday places this Summer - The Tranquil Otter lodges in Cumbria. This year was different though. It was a great favourite of Harry the Labrador. He adored chasing around the lawn, taking in the sounds, the sights and of course the smells. He was a true aqua-dog but this was one lake that was too wild and too inhabited by a myriad of birds and creatures for dipping his body into the water. Swimming would have been dangerous for both Harry and the wildlife. That didn't stop him setting sail in the little boat a few times though in years past. For me this place has many bright memories and Harry was one of the shinier ones. He's no longer with us anymore but he still walks happily through our minds.

Grumple

Harry has bounced back from his recent health problems quite well. He still limps and he's had to get used to shorter walks, but he's happy. Recently he's become a little more vocal. I don't mean he barks. Harry rarely barks. If he catches anybody getting out of vans filled with bottles who audaciously try to appropriate the empty bottles from our step... then he might have a go. Or if strange blokes bearing ladders and buckets start dabbing our windows with damp cloths... well then surely he's allowed a few vocal outbursts. No, I mean he makes more grumbly noises than he used to, usually because he wants stuff clearing from his next settling point, or if folk insist on eating buttered toast without offering it up to him entirely. Or if you stop scratching his ears too early... if there is such a thing.

Long grass Harry

Camera Critters & Face of the Week

Harry in the long grass.

The river patrol

Face of the Week & Watery Wednesday

Harry has still got the chops to get down to the serious business of collecting every stick in the county. And if those pesky sticks think they are safe floating on the river, well they've got another think coming.

Shopping For Harry Part 3

Camera Critters

Last year Harry turned ten years old and in the same year we discovered he had arthritis. He's on tablets to help him (which he thinks are a great treat) and his walks have grown shorter. Sometimes he takes a breather mid walk. Some neighbours seeing him sprawled out on the grass recently have rushed out to see if he is alright. "Has he collapsed?" they say. But he's only resting. There's still a lot of life left in this old chap. We decided to get him a dog coat during the winter - see the blog entries where we spent all week choosing; Shopping For Harry and then changed our mind: Shopping For Harry Part 2 ; and then bought something else at the last minute - the Sherlock Hound number he is wearing in these two pictures. He just wears it when it's wet really. Not that he minds getting wet. He's still an eager aqua-dog. He was swimming in the river Ribble today - sans coat thankfully.

Lock up your socks

Face of the Week
Harry in the mood for a partay. No sock will be safe.

Shopping for Harry Part 2

And the winner is - the top one from the previous post. Although they advertise a colour selection only the blue and green is available. Here are pictures of the same coat that looks quite different. This time it actually looks waterproof.

Shopping for Harry

Our black Labrador sure does like snoozing. He's not a pup in body any more even if he sometimes forgets this in mind. He takes tablets to help his joints. None of this is going to stop him getting to the front door before you if you happen to pick up his lead however. He doesn't care what the weather is like either. I've been trying to decide on a waterproof dog coat to keep him dry and warm this winter. Here are some that have made it onto the shortlist:This one comes in three colours, fastens with Velcro and has a fleece lining.

This nylon coat is padded and dirt resistant.

This one is more expensive but is more stylish and has a thermal lining.

Another nylon coat.

Stay in the light

I think Harry picked up the habit of finding a sunlit spot from me. If there is a spot of sunlight in the room when I turn up he often forgoes offering up a welcome and makes a bee-line for the light. He knows I'll be heading that way after I've collected my reading matter. "I was here first," his body language says. He'll move if you ask him though.
I was going to crop this one more severely but it seemed to destroy the mood of the shot.

The tower on the hill

In the background of this picture is Darwen Tower on Beacon Hill. It was built in 1898 to commemorate Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, though at the time of its completion the local townsfolk had just won the right to freely access the surrounding moors in an action dubbed The Battle for the Moors and the Tower came to represent their victory. Some websites state that the Tower is called the Jubilee Tower and also mention that it is sometimes referred to as Darwen Tower. I've lived in its shadow for nearly 43 years and I've hardly ever heard a local call it anything else but Darwen Tower. Harry doesn't care what it's called. He doesn't know either that if the landowners had got their way all those years ago he wouldn't have been able to spend so many hours enjoying himself on the Darwen Moors.

Wet dogs are cute too

Here's Harry desperate to find out if he's qualified for next year's sticks collected while swimming team at the Canine Olympics. Notice how he makes sure nobody makes off with the sticks before they can be counted and verified.

Little dog on the prairie

Harry is in seventh heaven here. An open space where he can get up some speed and he's found some sticks. Don't think that this is the last time that there will be a picture of a black Labrador with sticks on Badelynge. Harry has a vast portfolio of dog with stick photographs.
Debbie says this picture is Harry's homage to Little House on the Prairie. You know, the scene where you see the kids running down the hill to greet someone. No? I suppose that tv series was a long time ago. Here's a screenshot to demonstrate. I almost titled this entry Prairie Dawg but I suppose that was just Harry bringing out my silly side. Watch this space for further adventures with Harry and every loose stick in Lancashire.

Introducing Harry

Harry is a black Labrador. He's not my dog. He belongs to my sister - who lives right next door. Harry spends quite a bit of time at my house. Like Pickles (see The Blue Handbag) he's a sensitive soul. He doesn't bark much. If he does bark it means the window cleaner is here. He doesn't like any kind of shouting at all. So don't even think of cheering your team on if you happen to be watching football while Harry is in residence. If you do he'll be through the door and tucked up in bed before you can breathe out. "Sorry Harry," just won't cut it. You might coax him back at half time. But remember it's sotto voce cheering only for the rest of the match. Don't put anything with butter on it anywhere near him as this will result in much drooling. He likes to give raw spuds a fair chance to escape before devouring them. Only little dogs like Harry. Big dogs hate him. He loves collecting sticks. One stick won't do though. He has to have them all - at once. If you let him he will soon look like he's trying to disguise himself as a small tree. He adores swimming. Though he's restricted to paddles in the sea now. He's not as young as he used to be. He thinks his arthritis tablets are great treats. When he's bored he will grumble by softly growling followed by a sigh. I call him Grumple when he gets like this. If you stroke him or scratch his ears he will want you to continue - forever. If you stop he will poke you with his paw.

Harry and I didn't hit it off right away. Even as a youngster he was a far bigger dog than I was used to. Young Harry liked me all right but it took him a while to work out he couldn't welcome me like he welcomed his other friends. He welcomes his friends usually by running up to them and jumping on them. Every time he tried it with me he would bowl me over through the door I'd just come through and we would end up in a crumpled heap. If I was unlucky I'd hit the door casing on the way through. On one memorable occasion he knocked me right though the doorway, across the hallway and smacked my head into the radiator. Much swearing (from me) ensued. Eventually he worked it out. Jump on Debbie = good. Jump on Michael = bad. So now we get along fine and bruise free. In fact I think he loves me more than anything. Well, apart from Debbie, and Phil, oh and buttered toast, and don't forget those custards, and Uncle Peter (my god he has an Uncle Peter fetish) and that squeaky thing Debbie just bought him, and......